


There's No I in Team (But There Is in Discourse)

by hollybennett123



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Completely Unnecessary Sexual Content, Crack, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Top/Bottom Discourse is a Demonic Invention (Obviously)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: “Ohno,” Aziraphale says mournfully, now in another of his forty-seven open tabs. Crowley isn’t sure whether the tab count is a conscious choice or whether he just doesn’t know how to close them down, and at this point is too afraid too ask. “They’re at it on the Tumblr now, too! Oh, myDiscord,” Aziraphale gasps, clutching his chest with a dramatic flair that can hardly be deemed a proportional response to the situation and yet, somehow, is entirely befitting of Aziraphale himself.





	There's No I in Team (But There Is in Discourse)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the idea “Crowley invented top/bottom discourse just for a laugh and Aziraphale is still tutting at him about it today for the chaos he inadvertently wreaked”
> 
> You! Yes, you! Have you engaged in top/bottom discourse recently? Stop That!

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale says sharply, the light from the computer screen bestowing him with a suitably angelic glow that doesn’t quite fit with his far-from-serene tone.

No _darling_. No _dear boy_. Judging from the abruptness of it, Crowley has done something bad; not _bad_ bad, but not the good kind of bad either, of the kind which might result in Aziraphale, say, using his mouth in that rough way they both like, or edging him until he cries, or smacking him until Crowley comes whimpering all over the sheets. The average sort of bad, then: the kind that means Crowley’s in for a firm talking to. A stern sort of a telling off that’ll have him half-hard in his jeans anyway because, well, impossible not to, really, but where he’ll have to pretend that he isn’t actually hard at all because he’s supposed to be taking Aziraphale’s words entirely seriously.

“Yes?” Crowley says, ambling over to peer over Aziraphale’s shoulder and trying not to appear overly keen for the tongue-lashing of sorts he’s clearly about to receive and really quite looking forward to.

“I have just been on the Twitter,” Aziraphale declares darkly.

“It’s just Twitter, angel, there’s no ‘the’,” Crowley corrects him gently for the fifth time that week. “Yep, go on,” he adds quickly at Aziraphale’s unimpressed side-glance.

“This,” Aziraphale says, jabbing his finger against the screen where there’s — _oh no_, Crowley thinks, recoiling in horror — _top and bottom discourse_. “This is your demonic doing, as well you know. What was it you said? You invented it for a _laugh_. Well look at them! Arguing and ruining everyone’s enjoyment with their petty nonsense. It’s terribly silly and I am tired of it, Crowley, I really am. I simply want to enjoy my ships in peace.”

Ships this and fandoms that, OTPs, fanfiction and all the rest of it — not really Crowley’s area, all told, beyond his occasional forays into fandom purely to cause a bit of demonic chaos. It’s just so easy to _do_, is the thing; the humans barely even need a nudge and they’re tripping over one another to have some sort of idiotic online slapfight.

Still, if fandom makes Aziraphale happy, he’s all for it. Loves it, even.

“It was a joke!” Crowley reminds him, raising his hands in a proclamation of innocence as Aziraphale tuts at him in an unconvinced sort of way. It isn’t the first time they’ve trodden this particular ground. “How was I supposed to know they’d still be at it all these years later in yet another fandom? How could anyone _possibly_ argue over whether someone is a top or a bottom or whatever else for more than five minutes? _Why do they_ _care what other people enjoy_? Thought it’d blow over after a day or two, didn’t I!”

This gets no response from Aziraphale, who's now distractedly clicking at the screen and frowning.

“Oh _no_,” Aziraphale says mournfully, now in another of his forty-seven open tabs. Crowley isn’t sure whether the tab count is a conscious choice or whether he just doesn’t know how to close them down, and at this point is too afraid too ask. “They’re at it on the Tumblr now, too! Oh, my _Discord_,” Aziraphale gasps, clutching his chest with a dramatic flair that can hardly be deemed a proportional response to the situation and yet, somehow, is entirely befitting of Aziraphale himself.

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley tells him sincerely, pulling a chair over to sit beside him and reading in stunned silence. Really? The internet at their fingertips and humans use it for this? “Didn’t mean to ruin your fun with all this bollocks.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t mean to, darling,” Aziraphale says with a soft sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smile that, for all its subtlety, is somehow unspeakably fond. “Humanity can be so wonderful, sometimes, but — hmm. _Well_.” Now glowering at the screen again, it appears he’s redirected his ire at the internet in general as opposed to Crowley, much to Crowley’s simultaneous relief and disappointment. “I must say, I’m rather tempted to explain to some of these humans how foolish they’re being,” Aziraphale muses. “Ruining everyone’s fun like this with their unnecessary arguments. Do you think I ought to give them a bit of an earful, as it were?”

Crowley inches his chair closer to the screen, scarcely able to contain his glee at the thought of Aziraphale unleashing some small quantity of celestial fury all in the name of telling people off on the internet.

“I definitely think you should do that,” Crowley says. “Absolutely. Want me to help? Since it is my fault, sort of. Little bit.”

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale says, smiling at him in the tender sort of way that makes Crowley want to slide to his knees before him to be lavished with praise and attention and frankly anything else Aziraphale fancies covering him in or filling him up with. “That’s very kind of you, my dear, thank you. We’ll do the Twitter first, I think. Do you think I should reply to them from my not-safe-for-work account or from my safe-for-work account?”

Aziraphale’s insistence on not only maintaining two separate Twitter accounts, but also referring to them with regards to whether or not their content is deemed safe for the workplace, never ceases to amuse Crowley. Given Aziraphale likes to indulge in the finer and more pleasurable things in life, thusly devoting precious little time to anything he finds tedious, dull or in any way too much effort, in the time they’ve lived together Crowley can count on one hand the number of times Aziraphale has done anything that could even remotely be considered work.

“Safe-for-work, I reckon, despite the subject matter,” Crowley says. “Gives it a bit of gravitas, doesn’t it? Coming from the AZFellBookshop account?”

It’s not as if they have to worry about scaring off any potential customers with a few contentious tweets; if anything, it’ll be an added bonus if they do.

“Ah, yes. I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale says after a moment of deliberation. “You do have the best ideas, darling.”

With that, he cheerfully logs out of his EtherealComeSlut account and into his safe-for-work alternative, one slow but sure key press at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m too old for this nonsense, kids, and so are you *finger guns*


End file.
